Why I Celebrate The Fact That I Don't Have A Supermodel Body

When I was about 11 years old, we had to do a group trust exercise in summer camp. The goal of the exercise was to get all the campers through a “spider-man” like rope web between two trees. We did this by lifting up one camper at a time, until we all got across. When it was my turn to go, I was a little nervous, and I remember my most overwhelming anxiety went something like this: “What if they can’t lift me?” It was at age 11 that I started becoming super aware of my body.

“Are you ready Kell?” one camper asked me. “Yes,” I say as I am holding onto the net with white knuckles. “1, 2, 3 up!” For a moment, I recall feeling weightless and relieved. But that moment however didn’t last long.

Seconds later, I heard a boy say, “Ugh, she is so heavy!” I can’t remember his name, but his face is ingrained in my mind to this day. It only took a second for my heart to fall to the pit of my stomach, and for the heat of embarrassment to rise from my feet to my cheeks.

I was mortified. I still can’t remember if they ended getting me to the other side or if I just quit. What I do remember however is this was the day that taught my 11 year old self to feel like she was too “much.”

Flash forward 17 years later: I am 28 and in my daily yoga class. We just finished our second flow series and I hear our teacher say, “Now everyone find a partner.”